


Fortress

by incorrectbatfam



Series: Bluepulse Week 2020 [6]
Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bluepulse Week 2020, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: “Hey Blue, can you pass me the duct tape? We need to secure our fortress.”(Bluepulse Week 2020 – Day 6: Past and Future)
Relationships: Bart Allen & Don Allen, Bart Allen & Meloni Thawne, Bart Allen & Wally West, Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes
Series: Bluepulse Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798045
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	Fortress

As soon as the sky began to shake, ten-year-old Bart Allen’s feet hit the ground at full speed. 

The young speedster could hear the ships before he could see them. It meant they were still far away; it meant he had time to make it back to safety. 

A few seconds was all he needed. 

Tiny fragments of rock and dirt pelleted his face as he raced across the barren plain. Bart kept his eyes forward and scavenged clothing items tucked snugly under his arm. He coughed and gagged as a cloud of dust clung to his nose and throat and crawled down to his lungs like a million tiny bugs. 

It burned and stung like nothing else in the known world, but all the boy could do was adjust the worn-out bandana around his neck to cover his face and kept running.

* * *

It was stupid how the twenty-year-old superhero ran from thunder—from sounds that he knew couldn’t reach him. Sounds that he could literally outrun. As gray clouds rolled overhead, Bart sprinted, dodging pedestrians and phasing through speeding cars at the intersections. His jacket flapped behind him as the cold wind whipped his face. 

The only thought running over and over through his head was,  _ “Can’t let them catch me.” _

The apartment building was in his sight. He could practically feel its warmth already. 

It was ridiculous how a little bit of bad weather sent him fleeing for cover. He survived the apocalypse and traveled back in time, yet thunderstorms rattled him to the bone.

As the rain started to pour, Bart pushed on forward.

* * *

The rebellion was relocating again.

It was the third time that year and the meta-child was not surprised one bit. His family and family-friends were one of the last remaining legs of the insurgency. As their numbers dwindled, so did their capability of doing anything other than hide.

A pair of strong arms lifted him and held him tightly, like they were afraid Bart would run away again. The boy nuzzled his face against the bigger person’s shirt, which smelled of sweat and diesel oil. Around them, folks bustled around with boxes and bags crammed with whatever their weary backs could carry.

Bart overheard someone say, “Come on, Don, we can’t stay any longer. Grab the essentials and let’s go.”

* * *

He slammed the apartment door shut, hyperventilating. His fingers shook as he fumbled with the locks and his heart raced at the speed of sound.  _ He had to work fast. He had to keep them out. He had to– _

His thoughts were cut off when a pair of strong yet gentle arms wrapped around him from behind. Arms that proved time and time again to be a safe haven.

Bart sighed as he laced his fingers with his boyfriend’s, focusing on his breathing.

“Nothing is chasing us, is there?” It came out as a hoarse, timid whisper, throat drier than a desert from the running and hyperventilating.

“No, there’s not,” said the other man reassuringly.

“So we don’t have to move?”

“Not unless we want to.”

* * *

_ 6-2-7-2-0 _ .

The panel beeped thrice and the screen switched to a bright green with the words “APPROVED” in blocky digital letters.

Bart held back a sneeze as his father guided him through the winding, cobweb-covered tunnels. 

“Where are we?” the boy asked. 

“Think of it as a fortress,” Don answered. “It’s our most secure one. We’ll be safe here.”

With only the man’s flashlight to guide the way, it was easy for any child to get lost. It made Bart cling to his father even tighter. 

He hated being underground. It was always dark and cold and there was barely enough space for people to sleep, let alone for a hyperactive speedster child to run freely.

“Bart,” Don said. “Why don’t you go help your mother unpack the supplies?”

* * *

“Hey Blue, can you pass me the duct tape?”

“ _ ¿Por qué? _ ” Jaime asked, raising an eyebrow. “It looks like we already have plenty.”

Bart stepped back to examine the layers of bed sheets draped over the dining room chairs, tied together with countless scarves and pieces of zebra-patterned duct tape. Fluorescent white Christmas lights were strung along the perimeter, illuminating the bedroom in a homey way, like a fireplace. It was bright enough to negate the flashes of lightning outside their window (Bart made sure of it). Warm, fluffy blankets laid neatly on the floor with mismatching pillows and stuffed animals earned from carnival and arcade trips.

“We need to secure our fortress, duh,” the speedster said, rolling his eyes as if it was obvious.

Jaime chuckled and handed over the roll.

* * *

“If we water down the soup, then we just might have enough to last us three days longer than the package originally says.”

Bart watched as his mother and his aunt Dawn carefully measured and double-checked their ingredients in the tiny kitchen. His stomach growled at the mere sight of their meager portions. He cursed his metabolism and his body for constantly needing nourishment, but asking for more food was out of the question. 

“Bart,” Meloni said, “will you be a dear and check if we have any salt left?”

The boy opened the drawer closest to him and slid over a metal canister. Dawn opened it and sighed sadly before screwing the lid back on and giving it back to Bart.

She said, “Let’s save it for when we need it.”

* * *

“Got your favorite,  _ mi amor _ .”

Bart’s eyes twinkled. “Heaping piles of everything?”

“ _ Sí _ ,” Jaime said, laughing. “Heaping piles of everything for your black hole of a stomach.”

He dumped an armful of junk food onto the younger one’s lap. It was a chaotic array of cheese puffs and chips and Chicken Whizees and chocolate milkshakes and cupcakes and cookies and Mama Reyes’ conchas and chimichangas and even more things that the speedster cared less about naming and more about stuffing into his mouth.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Bart asked as he opened one of the packages.

“Mm, I’m not sure,” Jaime replied teasingly. “I can never hear it over all that chewing.”

* * *

When the clocks struck thirteen, everybody gathered around as the old radio crackled to life. Don kept his finger on the knob, carefully adjusting the channel until he landed on the right one.

A voice, garbled beyond identification, spoke monotonously.

**“The time is 13:00. Reach coordinates are 33.9065° North by 87.3014° West.”**

There was momentary static before the sound died down completely. A hush fell over the group.

“Mom? Dad?” Bart asked, fear edging his voice. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re right above us,” replied Meloni. “But don’t worry, this place is reinforced to go undetected on their scanners.”

“She’s right,” Don said. “As long as we take care and are extra vigilant, Blue Beetle won’t get to us.”

* * *

Jaime opened his laptop and asked, “What do you wanna watch, Bart?”

The speedster hummed as he opened his sixth pouch of Chicken Whizees. “How about that one movie you keep going on about. The one with the weird blue alien?”

Jaime snorted. “You mean my life?”

“No, no, the other one.”

“Oh, I think I know what you’re talking about,” the older one said. “Lilo and Stitch. You’re gonna love it, trust me.”

Bart snuggled closer, taking in his partner’s body warmth—the perfect condition to doze off.

“Now that’s just rude. At least wait ‘til the movie starts before you fall asleep,” Jaime said.

“Mm, yeah, don’t care,” was Bart’s reply.

* * *

“Psst, Bart. Can you scoot over?”

The child opened a bleary eye. In the dark, he could make out the silhouette of his first cousin once removed, Wally West. 

“What the– I thought you were on a mission,” Bart whispered, careful not to wake up the sleeping people around them.

“Finished early. There wasn’t much to do,” the other speedster said with a shrug. “Now scooch. There’s no space anywhere else and I am exhausted.”

Bart obediently dragged his bedroll closer to the corner as his cousin laid down. The child tucked himself back in rather uncomfortably as he was squished with a concrete wall from one side and other human beings on the other.

He opened his mouth to ask Wally to move again, but the latter was already out like a light.

* * *

“ _ Ese _ , could you take up any more space?” Jaime asked.

“Yes, I can,” Bart grunted plainly, voice muffled from where his face was buried in the other one’s sweatshirt. “Don’t test me.”

Bart’s head rested on Jaime’s chest as he took in the faint aroma of cinnamon. The speedster's arms wrapped loosely around his boyfriend’s frame. One leg draped over Jaime’s waist; the other was tangled messily in the blankets. Together, they took up almost the entire inside of their blanket fort.

“Jaime?” Bart asked, glancing up.

“ _ ¿Sí? _ ”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Maybe,” Jaime replied, a smile forming on his lips. “Have I ever told you the same?”

* * *

Bart didn’t know why he thought an underground bunker would have windows. Aboveground, he liked to watch the sunset sometimes on days where the smog wasn’t so heavy. If he was really lucky, he might’ve even spotted the faintest glimmer of the North Star. But none of that was possible in the windowless halls.

Instead, he found himself staring at the rafters, counting the number of bolts welded to each beam. Perhaps he could convince himself that it was as good as a real sky.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Bart said.

“Hey,” Meloni said. “We’re about to tune in to the radio again. You wanna come?”

He shook his head, glancing back at the ceiling.

The woman walked over and sat next to him. “I can see those gears turning. Is there something on your mind?”

Bart drew one knee to his chest and sighed. 

“What if we never get around to what really matters?”

Meloni blinked. “Of course we will. We’re working every single day to crash the Reach’s mode.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Bart. “What if we never get around to actually spending time with each other? What if we never get to tell people how we truly feel? What if… what if everything ends tomorrow and I don’t get to tell you or Dad or Wally how much you guys mean to me?”

She pulled him close and said, “Bart, even in a perfect world there’s always the risk of not having enough time. The only thing you can do is appreciate the present and don’t let fear hold you back from speaking your mind.”

Meloni gently ran her fingers through the boy’s hair. 

“Try not to overthink it, sweetheart.”

* * *

Bart scooted closer to Jaime, pressing their bodies together just a little more tightly. Bart gazed into those sunset eyes, which sparkled like the first stars rising in the evening. 

“I love you.”

It wasn’t his first time saying—that happened much earlier in their relationship because Bart never liked putting these things off. But that didn’t stop him from saying it over and over at every turn. The words tasted sweet, like honey.

“ _ También te amo. _ ”

Their faces rested mere inches apart and Bart couldn’t help but marvel at how his luck turned out. Less than a decade ago, he feared for his life as he hid from the Biggest Bad. Now he had Blue Beetle—he had  _ Jaime Reyes _ —in his arms and they were happily living together in a world that wasn’t (completely) on fire. This was the good timeline. This was the one Bart worked tirelessly for; the one where Blue Beetle’s only crime was stealing his heart.

The speedster was startled out of his thoughts by a soft tap on his forehead. 

“Knock knock,” Jaime said. “I can see those gears turning. What are you thinking about,  _ cariño _ ?”

Bart gently ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair and smiled.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing at all.”


End file.
